


Come as You are, as I Want You to be

by j_alfie



Category: Warcraft (2016)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 15:17:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7177082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_alfie/pseuds/j_alfie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After six long years, Lothar finally meets Medivh again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Come Doused in Mud

**Author's Note:**

> I have zero knowledge about the game. This is completely based on the movie.  
> I apologize for any malapropism in advance for English is not my first language.

"This... 'Fell' you were talking about?" Lothar walked into the room, putting on an air of pretended ease. He was never particularly good at this, and in particular, six years were long days and tough nights spent.

Medivh had his back towards Lothar as he wiped the clay off his torso with plain water, and yet the warrior thought anything he'd apply would have some touch of magic. He didn't look like a summoned Guardian to him right now. He looked like an old friend... To say the least.

Lothar wanted to reach his hand out as he walked closer. He wanted to help. To see if a friend was as he remembered. His steps were a little too forceful though. Were he intended to harm, Medivh would have had him crashed onto walls and pillars without the slightest utterance.

But he meant no harm, did he? Which was perhaps why Medivh let him get closer than _he should_. Lothar's fingers fell upon his skin. There was no point pretending. There was nothing for him to help with or check "if." Rather, _this_  was what he _wanted_  to do.

"You aren't here to talk about the fel," Medivh said, with relief.

"No, I'm not."

Lothar’s hand slipped below the garment with little hesitation. He grabbed Medivh, noticing an abrupt groan had slipped his tongue. Filthy water seeped into Lothar’s shirt before it trailed down Medivh’s back. His heart was pounding fast. The Magus’ own shivers joined him.

Recapitulating how little time they had and that their priority should not be misplaced, Medivh resisted him not. He didn’t cast a spell that threw the man to a wall. He didn’t say no. Instead, he wanted this too. Lothar knew Medivh must want him. _He_  always did.

“Use your trick then. You can take us back to Stormwind in a second,” Lothar, tightening his embrace, whispered to reassure his friend. He even slowed down with that hand of his and started to tease more, as if to show patience.

Much to his surprise, his wavering friend decided to squeeze one hand against his pushing crotch. Before Lothar could process, Medivh had those fingers wrapped around his cock. His fingers of a mage, trim as from lack of labour and rough, for crying out loud, from making art with bare hands, now performed honest imitations of whatever Lothar was doing to him.

“The boy’s waiting,” said the Magus that knew everything.

Lothar might have heard some low chuckles hidden in-between words and breaths. He buried his face at the back of Medivh’s neck, breathing in clay and sweat. When moans weren’t exchanged, kisses were lain.

His skin was quite humanly soft and warm, yet Lothar could almost feel the power beneath simply by pressing his lips against it. So much might trapped inside one bone-house, too much tried to break out of it. As Medivh gasped for breath his shoulder blades pushed towards Lothar, who feared that that could be the break of him.

Medivh came in Lothar’s grip. He murmured something Lothar didn’t catch. It was hard to keep focus when one attempted to extend his grasp further down there, stretching for an entrance. Despite the lingering pleasure, Medivh immediately realised his intent. His thighs uncontrollably stiffened next to Lothar’s wrist as his voice tensed, “it is no time for this.”

The air surrounding him intensified as the once roaming power began so, though Medivh harboured no hostility. Lothar since retracted himself not under threat but in respect. Nevertheless, he was a little awed by this. The years had tendered his memory, obscuring what it was that Medivh was truly capable of.

Medivh turned around. His chest was still heaving at irregular pace; his eyes blinked apologetically. Lothar felt his hand fastened in steady strokes.

“I’ll try...” Medivh paused, looking for the correct word while Lothar became increasingly more a _handful_. The warrior, on the contrary, seemed not so displeased. He caught hold of Medivh’s left shoulder and thrust violently in his palm.

“You’d better tell Moroes to prepare something neat for me as well,” Lothar grinned.


	2. Soaked in Bleach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This began with me imagining possessed!Medivh seducing his loyal friend, and ended a poorly arranged testimony.

Medivh grinned at Lothar. He was in a pretty cheerful mood, for someone who had just put his closest friend and ally in prison. He even took the time to fool Lothar into believing that he had been a real raven.

Lothar called Medivh by his name the moment his raven form landed by the window, and, upon receiving no response, felt like an idiot doing so. The next second there came the sorcerer, all groomed and pleased in his crow-like robe, leaving no feather trembling out of place.

“Why are you here?” Before Lothar could stand up, he found himself caught in yet another trick that locked down his body movements.

He was getting tired of this.

“I don’t appreciate your grudging,” Medivh sighed. He scanned the cell, possibly in search for a place to sit. The only option would be to sit by Lothar’s side on the bench, from which he quickly withheld himself.

The prisoner said nothing. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, yet Medivh’s smile twitched a bit. With both hands rested upon the knot that tied around his waist, he continued, “you asked me where I’ve been these six years.”

That was not even close to what he meant. Lothar got impatient that he raised his head, intending to end this conversation. His eyes found Medivh, and the weariness he saw tortured his tongue.

Lothar didn’t forget how Medivh used to drive himself to the extreme as a young mage. He was also aware that power such as his may manifest in certain physical decadence, and that what Medivh had performed at Black Rock must exact great exhaustion. But his guts told him none of these was the reason.

Medivh looked weary, pale, and more _weakened_  than ever. Although he held up that irritatingly haughty manner when he talked to Lothar, it seemed as if it was the haughtiness that had held him where he stood. As if he had been pulled up by an invisible string, crossing the lines he wouldn’t have back in the assembly room. And now here he was.

“Medivh, you are not well,” Lothar urged, betrayed by anxiety--

“I’ve been fighting this, _evil_ ,” the Magus approached, eyes glimmered green underneath the transient shadows as he glanced at Lothar’s direction. It was merely for a quarter of a second, though. One wouldn’t even detect it, should he blink at the right moment.

Lothar didn’t blink. He would very much liked to have missed it, just as he wished he’d never listened to Khadgar. Either, he prayed. Defeated, the warrior painfully shut his eyes and lowered his head.

“And I shall keep fighting this. Do what I do best, am I not right? How great is the chance Llane’ll win this war without me?” Medivh’s voice forced nearer. For a second it hesitated, and then went on, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Lothar groaned in objection. His friend took none, “but this time no one is going to be on the other side. Not Garona. Not you. Not the king. _You have to trust me, Anduin_.”

Medivh stopped while he kissed Lothar on the brow. A swift, non-suggestive kiss. A merciful gift.

Aptly following that, however, Medivh sat down on his laps, legs spread to make room for it. The heat of his body immediately prevailed. He must have had it all planned out, including little detours like this along the way. Lothar sneered. He doubted if there were anything under that robe.

The restricting spell was then lifted. A suggestion was made, “and this, my friend, is long overdue.”

Lothar put both hands on Medivh’s waist to hold him still. He placed his forehead on the latter’s chest, pressed to the ornate cloth.

He had a dagger tapped to the inside of his left boot. He felt it blatantly against his ankle. For a well-trained combatant like him, gagging someone so they couldn’t move their magic tongue wouldn’t be a problem. He was close enough, and he was ready.

For a brief moment, Lothar allowed himself to indulge in this fantasy. His mouth dried. It almost tasted like the bitter of grief. Those were the things he _can_  do. But what he _had_  to do, what _he did best_  for all these years, they both knew, was to trust.

To trust in Medivh’s capacity, as the mightiest mage alive, to triumph over the damned; and to trust in that soul that shall lie evermore by this side.

He pushed his fingers deeper down the skin, against pure force, the more opposed the more enticed. He panted desperately, tearing off the layers on Medivh with bare teeth, biting into flesh. “You never called me Anduin,” he said.

The heart beneath rumbled to Lothar’s own. The Guardian, with voice quivering of sensation, said his name once more.

 _No_ , screamed the heart.

 _No_.

 

 

fin.


End file.
